I've Been a Fool For Lesser Things
by Genevievey
Summary: Of course, Edith refuses to give up on Anthony Strallan. This is my interpretation of their romance - frantically posted before that thing called 'canon' marches on and obliterates my imaginings! NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: This is my first Downton fic (though I've read a fair bit), and unfortunately it's being written rather faster than I'd like; because for one thing, I'm supposed to be writing my dissertation (HAHAHA!), and furthermore, I have just realised that in twelve days, Series 3 airs in Britain.  
Twelve days until Julian Fellowes reveals what it is he has in store for our favourite characters - and I have a (hopefully misplaced) foreboding feeling that he might somehow present Edith & Anthony's relationship in a way I don't approve of (I mean, what does he think, that they're his own characters or something?! Pah.)_

_So, this is my attempt at bringing Edith & Anthony together. This will be a two-parter, I expect - the coming chapter (which I confess was the primary inspiration for this fic) will be rated high-T to M. I hope you enjoy this first installment._

_(And as we know, I don't own Downton, etc. Also, apparently in my version Edith never actually kissed Farmer Drake - let's just say they flirted, shall we? I know I'm cheating, but I do want Anthony to give her her first kiss. And I'm at the keyboard, so there.)_

* * *

**I've Been a Fool for Lesser Things**

The afternoon of her visit passed, painfully slowly over tea and social niceties, and he did not expect to see Lady Edith Crawley again – not alone, certainly. They would perhaps be thrown into company together at some party or other – though he did not get out as often as he used to – but that would be absolutely it. He had been perfectly clear – with her, and with himself. It was decided.

But there were several social engagements that he could not escape, events which necessitated his meeting with her. Cripple or not, it would not do for Sir Anthony Strallan to withdraw completely from society: the good of his estate would not allow it, to say nothing of his sanity. And so, he saw her. From across the room, usually, as he would mercifully be engaged in some stuffy conversation with another gentleman – but try though he might to distract himself, he found himself always aware of her position in the room. Whenever she graced him with a smile across the crowd (which was not uncommon), he attempted to limit his response to some polite recognition – whatever he might foolishly feel inside.

One evening, she arrived – unexpectedly, to him at least – at the party of a mutual friend, her lovely hair bobbed in the new style, the soft curls apparently enhanced by the use of an iron. Anthony turned away, in order to avoid staring. That was that, he decided (again). If he had needed a sign (which of course he hadn't), that would have been it. Lady Edith was a young, modern woman, and she would marry a young, modern man. Anything else – any persistent, foolish fantasy – was all well and truly in the past, now. Indeed, as one of the few women present she was not without her admirers that evening, particularly among his younger acquaintances. Some dark, twisted voice within suggested to Anthony that she was probably enjoying the chance to flaunt her only-increased beauty and confidence, to taunt him with everything he had turned down – twice. And why shouldn't she?

But he knew, really, that she was entirely too good-hearted to resent him – and in fact, aside from the amiability of a well-bred lady, Edith did not seem particularly interested in monopolizing male attention. She did not converse with any one young man more than another.

He must have let his guard slip, for near the end of the evening he found himself cornered by the fireplace.  
"Good evening, Sir Anthony."  
"Lady Edith, hello." He returned her smile cautiously, trying desperately not to admire the glow of her skin by firelight.

"It has been entirely too long since we've talked," she said, quite sincerely; as though he hadn't rebuffed her with all the subtly of a schoolmaster over tea and cake.  
"Quite," he nodded, at a loss how else to respond. "I, err, hope your family are well?"  
"Quite well." Her lips pursed in a mischievous smirk. "Mary is all in a flutter over wedding preparations, of course. Such a struggle, choosing flowers and a gown… One must consider hairstyle, too, of course – she dared me to have mine bobbed."

She raised a gloved hand to gesture rather sheepishly to her curls – the first time that evening he had seen her appear anything other than confident in her appearance – and perhaps it was the glow of the fire, but he could have sworn that she blushed. There was only one response a gentleman could give.  
"It suits you very well, I must say."  
She looked up again, and smiled in a way that made his traitorous heart thud.  
"Thank you."

He could not very well have said that he rather missed her mass of burnished curls, that he had always loved her hair, that he tormented himself nightly with the thought of how he might have had the chance to run his hands through them, if he hadn't been such a dashed fool. And at any rate, her new style was by no means unattractive – quite the opposite, actually, in a modern way. But thankfully, Edith – who was no mere ornamental woman – turned the discussion to their acquaintance, to local politics, and to books. He told himself that such intellectual conversation was perfectly safe, and that there was no need to extricate himself from her company.

It was not until much later that evening, staring out at the night from the backseat of his motorcar, that Sir Anthony came to a realization. She had not, in fact, given up on him. Despite his every urging, despite all logic, Edith Crawley continued to vie for his attention, to bestow glowing smiles upon him, to sit out the Charleston (when she so loved dancing, he knew) in order to further discuss with him the philosophies of John Stuart Mill. Sir Anthony told himself it was frustration, and not any other feeling, that constricted his chest. That foolish girl – no, that woman – would simply _not be told_. And he would be a fool to be flattered. A dashed fool.

He did not sleep easily, that night.

* * *

As spring began to warm the earth – earlier than usual, that year – he was obliged to attend the garden party of a mutual acquaintance. It was a lovely afternoon, all white blossom and thin sunshine and a light breeze. He was almost surprised to find her there – but there she was, laughing on the lawn, with a cup of tea in her delicate hand. Resplendent in a clean-cut frock of pink satin that only enhanced her lovely hair.

And again, she was not without her admirers. She had so opened up since the war, flourished so, that it was no wonder that men were now drawn to her. She was still inclined to say the wrong thing occasionally, but now she had an open way of laughing it off that was quite enchanting. Anthony couldn't help wishing that the same war that had been the making of her hadn't damaged him so irreparably, or he might've…

As the party drew on, he withdrew to the bottom of the garden, unable to bear the sight of young Mr. Hadley fawning over Edith – particularly since he happened to know that the same Mr. Hadley was something of a mercenary social-climber. Every smile she gave him stung Anthony – although he had no _right_ to feel that way, having knowingly denied himself her repeated offers. So he retreated, and was admiring a profusion of flowering vines down the garden wall when a gentle tread behind him alerted Anthony to the fact that he was not alone.

"Lovely, isn't it?"  
"Hmm? Oh, yes. I've always had a mind for botany, though I can't name this particular flower..."  
She was smiling at him, perfectly openly, and it seemed imperative that he put up some kind of boundary.

"Has Mr. Hadley been called away?"  
Edith lowered her chin a little, his suggestion not lost on her, but she replied carelessly, "No, but I could only bear his conversation for so long. Or lack of conversation, rather. I don't believe he's read a book all year."  
"Perhaps the war has made him realise there's no time to be wasting in dusty libraries – that real life must be lived."

"That's just it, isn't it?" she said, her tone suddenly urgent. "To let life pass you by is the worst of tragedies. _Carpe diem_, and all that. You _must_ know that, yourself."  
He turned then, and found her meaning echoed in her eyes. Anthony's shoulders sagged a little, feeling defeated already as his heart began to thud – but he _must_ resist; if wearily.

"Lady Edith, if you mean to persist in suggesting-"  
"I do, and I think you know it. You might be willing to hide yourself away, but _I_ can't stand to see you do it. You say that you don't need a wife, you need a nurse – but don't you see - you dear, silly man - that I can _be_ a nurse, _and_ a wife. I've had experience of the first, and I should love to have experience of the latter – and not just with any man, with you. Goodness, I'm sure I could even learn to be a valet."  
She paused a moment, then rolled her eyes, becoming almost petulant, and faintly sarcastic.  
"You can interview me for all three positions, if you like. At the very least, wouldn't it save you money?"

It was fascinating – not to say something of a shock – to see Edith so impassioned in her argument. She had moved closer to him in order to make her point, and now finally halted her tirade to catch her breath, staring up at him. Just at the angle she stood, the afternoon sun was catching her hair, and lighting her eyes, and oh God _she was beautiful_…  
She had been jibing him, about the money - but surely she didn't actually think he didn't _want_ her? Surely any man with a pulse would…

"Oh Edith…" Anthony was mildly surprised to find himself speaking, low and yearning, his eyes still roaming her face.  
"You would mean so much more than that…"  
She tilted her face upwards in response; not the kind of coy manoeuvre a lesser woman might attempt, but apparently pure instinct.  
"Would I…?"

He was lost – he knew it even before he finally gave in, and captured her mouth in a kiss. She gave a soft murmur of surprise, and then her lips were warm against his and she was steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder and dear God, he was only a man. What could he do but let himself adore her?  
When they parted some moments later, Anthony drew back in time to see her eyelids flutter open, her face glowing. And seeing that innocent, breathless response brought the guilt crashing back around him.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I should never have... Forgive me."  
Edith shook her head – in fervent disagreement, and an attempt to keep up with his rapid change of tack.  
"No, I won't! I've no reason to: I've been wanting that for so long now, from you. That was my first kiss, you know."  
She was still a little breathless, and desperately earnest now, and Anthony was seized with an immediate desire to give her her second. He turned aside, revolted with himself.

"I'm a cad. What sort of man kisses a woman and then pushes her away?"  
"Then _don't_ push me away," she suggested, somewhere between pleading and pragmatism. "Not after kissing me like _that_. And haven't we had this conversation often enough?"  
She put a gloved hand on his shoulder, a touch less insistent than it was coaxing.  
"Edith…"  
"Anthony."  
She would not relent. She knew now what she would miss out on, if she were to let him slip away again.

He turned to face her, with a sudden, futile gesture to his dead arm.  
"But how can you want…_this_?"  
Edith shook her head, almost despairingly – rather as though she were trying to explain the laws of gravity to a well-meaning but exceptionally slow student.

"But I _do_, believe me. Is... Is it that you think I'm only trying to keep up with my sisters? It's not that at all, I promise. And perhaps _I_ was unclear, the other afternoon. You see, it's not_ just_ that you call me 'lovely' – though I must admit that has no small effect on me – but it's everything _else_. You understand me, Anthony, and really listen when I speak, and… If all I wanted was a man to call me lovely, I could probably find some fortune hunter – actually, Mr. Hadley was saying just now how 'lovely' my frock is, and I felt nothing more than mild embarrassment. That would be the road to misery, to an empty life devoid of feeling, and certainly devoid of intelligent conversation. Whereas, when I think of you..."

She sighed.  
"What more can I… You wouldn't make a woman embarrass herself with ardent declarations, would you?"  
Such a question sounded as though it ought to be banter, but her tone was perfectly serious.

And there, in the garden of some acquaintance, Anthony Strallan realised that the most shameful waste of all would be to deny this lovely, fascinating woman. The realisation was so very sudden and so very clear that he wondered if perhaps he hadn't already known, deep down, for some time. It was clear that she would not give up... If he ensured never to hurt her, never to hold her back, then perhaps…

A slow smile played around the corners of his mouth, as his thoughts returned to her offer of 'ardent declarations'.  
"Well," he said, "I might be tempted to hear them…"

His tone was so apparently nonchalant that it was a full two seconds before Edith recognized the light in his eyes. Then her own eyes widened and her breathing stuttered, a blush colouring her cheeks. She floundered for a response, apparently not quite sure where to look as she tried to reign in the smile that tugged at her lips. Now that her advances were actually being returned, she was almost shy; it was impossibly endearing. But Edith was a bright woman, and she did her level best to return his sparking banter.

"Well," she breathed, "play your cards right, and who knows…"  
Her tone was thrillingly flirtatious; yet coloured by a deeper, rather tremulous happiness. And they both knew, of course, that it was so much more than a game between them. That much was evident by the way their eyes shone.

"Well then, Lady Edith," he smiled, offering her his arm – his left of course – mainly in order to distract himself from the fierce urge to kiss her again. "Shall we join the others? There might be a little tea left."  
She surprised him, then, by coming to stand on his right side, and tucking her little gloved hand into the crook of his slinged arm. It was the first time since his injury anyone had touched his wounded arm in such a decidedly non-clinical manner; and bizarrely, it felt terribly right. Edith smiled rather sheepishly.  
"This way you can hang on to me _and_ a teacup," she explained softly.

A wise man knows when he is done for, and Anthony Strallan could hardly even pretend to regret his defeat, that spring afternoon. They made their way back to the house, arm in arm.

* * *

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

_AUTHOR'S NOTE__: Firstly, thanks to all those who've reviewed or favourited - I'm so pleased to know that other people see Edith & Anthony's relationship the same way I do. _

_Now - though I had intended this to be a two-parter, the second of the two scenes I wanted to illustrate is turning out longer than first expected (and also I don't want to rush the writing of it), so I'm splitting it in two and giving you the first half now. These next chapters deal with the wedding night - but as this installment is more suggestive than explicit, I'm keeping the rating at T for the moment._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter - I've certainly enjoyed writing it. I hope to get the next and final installment to you before Series 3 begins, with a bit of luck._

* * *

After that, Anthony Strallan harboured no illusions that he had the strength of will to resist that fascinating woman – and once he had given up resistance as futile, he found himself enjoying Edith's company as much as ever (perhaps more so, being so assured of her constancy), and with no guilt whatsoever. Every tender smile and warm laugh served as a reminder that there was no other way he _could_ have handled the situation – how could a man in his position reasonably be expected to forgo such charms?

They were often in company, attending small local parties and the occasional concert. They became 'Anthony and Edith', and any host extending an invitation to the one simply assumed the attendance of the other. Furthermore, Edith seemed genuinely proud to be seen so often on his arm, to be introduced as his guest – Anthony still couldn't fathom it, but neither was he so ungrateful as to object. She had so flourished: he had thought her rather fascinating _before_ the war, but now, with her newfound efficiency and confidence... It was such a pleasure to watch her conversing with their friends and family, charming anyone with the sense to appreciate her. One evening she was cajoled into playing the piano at the home of his oldest friend; and when that talented woman smiled across at him Anthony felt a rush of pride that was almost overwhelming.

It was not long before he proposed – quite spontaneously, though it had long felt inevitable – as they sat close together in the back seat of his Bentley. The resulting kiss between them was…well, he couldn't quite believe how lucky a man he was turning out to be.

And though he still tried to tell himself that the interest on Edith's part must be purely a matter of like minds, _he_ could no longer consider himself too old for amorous imaginings – visions of his fiancé providing daily (and nightly) evidence to the contrary. However, they were not so complete a source of bliss as they might have been. Anthony was forced to consider his injury – he could not even undress without the aid of a valet, so he cringed to think what a hash he would make of…marital intimacy…that is, if Edith ever granted him access to her room. He still struggled to believe that she would ever actually want him in her bed - and really, wouldn't he be lucky enough to be graced with the sight of her across his breakfast table? He tried to tell himself that that would be enough.

But come the wedding day, he could scarcely help himself. She was so very, very beautiful, glowing in her bridal gown. The arch of her elegant neck, the light way she tossed her head as she laughed with a friend, the cut of her dress complementing her feminine figure so very alluringly... What on earth could he have done to win such a woman?

Edith, meanwhile, had little idea of Anthony's concerns – that is, she assumed that her own ardour was quite obvious. Inexperienced though she may be, she was by now well familiar with the intoxicating rush of a fervent kiss, and everything it suggested. She had, however, predicted Anthony's concerns regarding their wedding night – and after some thought and many self-chastising blushes, she had something of a strategy in mind.

* * *

It was rather a relief for both of them to leave the wedding breakfast at last, and retire to what was no longer simply his house, but theirs. On the ride home, Edith settled snugly against his side – she had taken to sitting always on his left on drives, so that should he wish to put his arm about her shoulders he would be able to do so. He certainly wished to on this of all evenings, and as she snuggled closer with a sigh of contentment, he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek – tempted though he was by the expanse of pale neck he'd been admiring all evening. Despite this admirable restraint, he could not quite dispel insistent thoughts that he might perhaps be granted access to that and more, in the next few hours. If only he were a whole man, a younger man… Trying to keep such grim thoughts from showing on his face, he clenched his good fist.

Such bitter reflections only intensified when they arrived at the house, and he had the privilege of escorting his new wife (his _wife_!) into what was now _their_ home. Edith beamed as he gallantly guided her inside with a meaningful "Lady Strallan" …but he could not help wishing that he might have done it properly, and carried her over the threshold. To take her up in his arms like that would be… Well, it was impossible, and that was that. And he'd be an ungrateful wretch to complain, considering everything he had gained in the past hours.

After taking a celebratory (and fortifying) glass of wine, they proceeded upstairs and were met on the landing by Sir Anthony's valet, as arranged between the two men earlier. Both men were surprised when the new Lady Strallan shook her head, and said as boldly as she could manage under the circumstances, "Thank you, Stevens, but that won't be necessary. We shall manage quite well."  
She was blushing faintly, and the valet could do nothing but nod and hurry away down the hall.  
"Edith-"  
"Please hush," she interrupted him, placing a hand on his chest. "You trust your wife, don't you? Now, which is your door?"  
Perplexed, and more than a little nervous, Anthony led her into his room. How much times had changed since his first marriage – and while he had his suspicions that the change was for the better, he was still trying desperately not to get his hopes up.

For want for something to do upon entering the room, he lit the lamps; and when he turned he found Edith closing the door behind them, and switching off the overhead lights. Though it instantly plunged the room into an intimate glow, it was something of a relief – harsh lighting did nothing for a man of his age, he knew. Anthony stood, rather lamely, by the bedside lamp, his eyes seeking some kind of answer from the lady.

She smiled softly – completely without guile – crossing the room to join him.  
"Do you remember that afternoon you changed your mind about me? At what's-his-name's garden party?"  
"How could I forget? Although, if we are being strictly honest, I'm not sure I ever _really_ changed my mind about you – I was always enchanted."  
Edith smiled, gratified, and reached out to place a gentle hand on the arm crooked in a sling.  
"Do you remember my insisting that I could be a nurse_ and_ a wife? And a valet too, perhaps? Well, I thought I had better keep my word, and demonstrate my ability."

Anthony was beginning to catch her meaning. She meant to…undress him? To perform the services of a valet? The idea was somewhat disconcerting, and somewhat…well…  
But he did not have time to dwell on exactly what else it was, because Edith was already rambling away.  
"Or perhaps I should say my _lack of_ ability. That is, well…of course I'm quite inexperienced at undressing a man – entirely, I mean – but I do hope one day to be a true proficient…so I may need a little instruction."

The warmth building in Anthony's chest as he realised her intent was almost unbearable. But his tender, disbelieving gaze was evidently acquiescence enough, for she seemed to regain her equilibrium somewhat, lowering her eyes to his chest and reaching immediately for his sling. Though she still seemed unfazed by his injury, for Anthony this was something of a harsh reminder, and he couldn't help but sigh as Edith eased his useless arm down to his side. She glanced knowingly up into his eyes as she untied the sling and tossed it away.  
"Don't you dare feel sorry for yourself on your wedding night, Anthony Strallan. Or your lady will think herself underappreciated." She was only just teasing.  
"Quite the reverse, Edith, as I hope you are well aware," he replied, his voice low. Then she smiled, those dark eyes glowing in the half-light.  
"Good. Now…I expect I should begin by unbuttoning your jacket."

She reached for the buttons, and Anthony could only stand still, as her nimble fingers deftly worked them undone. He was just beginning to consider how very different her manner was from any valet, when she confirmed this conclusively by stepping closer so that their bodies were flush, reaching up on her tiptoes, and sliding her hands beneath his jacket to ease it from his shoulders. An affectedly 'incidental' sort of embrace. He felt the warmth radiating from her body, felt the scent of her perfume go to his head…and decided not to inform her that a valet would usually remove a jacket from behind. In fact, he had his suspicions that she knew that already. Edith eased the sleeves carefully over his arms, placed the jacket on a chair, and turned back to face him, giving him little chance to cut in.

"And now the tie?"  
He only nodded, unable to keep his eyes from the utterly beautiful woman apparently intent on disrobing him by lamplight. She was managing to be earnest, pragmatic, and faintly coquettish in the most alluring of ways, all at once. This 'valet' business was a solution to a problem, a tender banishment of his apprehensions…and it was also, most definitely, a seduction. One to which Sir Anthony was by no means immune.

The task of removing his bowtie actually necessitated her standing very near to him, and they both took full advantage – she nestling into his chest as she reached up for his tie, and he taking the opportunity to let his eyes trail every contour of her face. His good hand instinctively settled on her hip – and, feeling the warmth of her beneath his fingers, Anthony suspected that, were he a younger, more impatient man with the use of both hands, the matter of getting undressed may well have ended up a rather more hurried affair. Not that he was complaining, by any means – there was something very enticing about this teasing pace. Actually, he felt rather intoxicated by it.

Edith had obviously been telling the truth when she said that she was unaccustomed to undressing a man – and though she blushed a little sheepishly as she continued to work at the bow with her delicate fingers, Anthony was only too pleased to have an extended opportunity to gaze on her. She frowned in concentration so endearingly, biting her lip, that he really had to fight the urge to capture her mouth in a kiss; and the little spark of triumph in her eyes when she finally worked it loose warmed him right through. How had no one else realised how marvellous she was?

Having tugged the tie from his collar she paused a moment, letting her eyes roam his face – and she still did not seem at all repelled by the lines creases around his eyes, or the greying of his pale hair at his temples. There was a soft, private glow to her eyes; a gentle smile on those tender lips. Anthony realised that he'd been silent – adoring her wordlessly – ever since she'd reached for his jacket, and he suddenly felt compelled to speak.  
"Edith…"  
"Mm?"  
"I want to say…I hope you realise that you've…given me back my life."  
Those hazel eyes flickered to meet his, and her expression softened even more.  
"I…adore you, utterly." He let his fingers play at her hip, in light caresses.  
She breathed a happy sigh, and her eyes twinkled as she began to divest him of his waistcoat.  
"I had just been about to say how very dashing you are this evening. Even more than usual, I mean."

Anthony couldn't help smiling, but had opened his mouth to object, when his new wife raised her face to his and he could not resist the kiss she was so obviously seeking. Edith murmured her contentment as their lips met, and pressed closer against him. The feel of her body pressed up against his… They had never been quite so…

After a moment he felt her hands sliding up his chest, to fumble at the buttons of his shirt. She had to pull back a little in order to do so, but did not relinquish his mouth entirely, giving and taking soft, teasing kisses. She made comparatively quick work of the buttons, though Anthony was rather pleased to note that her fingers did tremble slightly – it was gratifying, not to say relieving, to think that she was perhaps half so affected as he.

Then her warm hands crept beneath the starched fabric to explore his chest, and all of a sudden Anthony found himself being quite soundly kissed. He could not contain a soft groan – and though that might have given pause to the Edith of years past, her time with convalescents had since taught her all too well to recognise a groan of pain; and now she recognised this as something entirely more pleasing. He felt her smile against his mouth… Lord, she was heavenly.

Throughout their courtship Anthony had done his best to lean towards restraint, but now she was his wife…and soon his good hand was pressing her closer to him, sliding up to tangle in her hair, to caress the back of her neck…and she was emitting delicious little gasps of her own. Edith clung to him, her fingers weaving through his hair in ways that made him shiver. When she at last pulled away, they were both quite breathless, and her expression was one he had never seen her wear before – something between wonder and…well…desire. Her lips were reddened from his kisses... She was breath-taking.

After a dazed moment she shook her head lightly, and managed a sheepish giggle.  
"Oh dear, what sort of valet am I turning out to be? So easily distracted. And I've mussed up your hair so carelessly."  
She raked her fingers through his hair to tidy it, and Anthony had to fight the urge to let his eyes fall shut. Then she turned to the remaining buttons of his shirt – reaching for his wrists to remove the cufflinks.  
"You'll have to forgive my clumsy inexperience. I'm sure I shall improve."

Anthony was not sure he would be able to handle any 'improvement'. But now that he was no longer distracted by her sweet mouth, he stiffened at the thought of Edith removing his shirt, to see the battle-scarred and otherwise-unremarkable chest beneath. However, the 'casual' way she raked her nails lightly down his arms as she divested him of the shirt proved sufficient distraction – and then, far from being repulsed, she actually took a moment to drink in the sight of him, running her fingers tenderly over his few scars.

What she was saying – without _saying_ it – was _I love you, all of you. Your wounds mean nothing to me._ Anthony could not have spoken a word if he'd tried.

In the months he had been convalescing, and giving up all hope of regaining the use of his arm, he had taken to reading and rereading a particular poem, one which gave an unflinching vision of a damaged soldier's post-war existence – it was a self-imposed torture, nursing his own depression. The lines he had always bitterly returned to were these:

_Now he will never feel again how slim  
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,  
All of them touch him like some queer disease._

He had been so sure, so painfully sure, that he was resigned to the same fate – if his age were not already enough. But when he met Edith again…and tonight more than ever, he was being proved so mercifully wrong. She did not touch him like 'some queer disease' – she touched him like he was a man. A man she wanted, and loved. And oh, did he want her.

So much so that, when Edith's eyes flickered up to meet his and she suggested tentatively that she supposed 'it was her turn', Anthony felt his stomach drop as her meaning dawned on him. To see her, bare and beautiful…to touch, to taste… The slow-burning need that had simmered in him all day suddenly tripled, and his heart began to pound.  
"Please," he managed huskily; surprised he could trust his voice at all.

* * *

_To be continued._

The poem quote above is 'Disabled', by Wilfred Owen, and it is heartbreaking.


	3. Chapter 3

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE_**_**:** I'm back, I'm back! Firstly, I must thank you for your lovely reviews and messages - you're too kind. Secondly, I must apologise profusely for the time that has lapsed since I posted the last chapter - see, my English Lit dissertation of 20,000 words is due in 9 days...so I'm busy. But I still have our lovely couple on the brain, so I have managed to cobble together the third and final chapter of this fic. I'm aware what a horrible, teasing place it was to leave you at - so I hope this installment makes up for it._

_It's not what I'd like it to be, because I wrote it in a rush (in fact, I'm tempted by the idea of rewriting this whole thing once my thesis is in - what was I thinking, starting a fic at this time of year?!), but I hope some of you like it anyway. This chapter brings the rating up to M (my first M fic ever posted! *fanfare*) so I'm a little nervous about it...but now I'm going to stop making excuses, and let you read._

_P.S. I can't wait until Downton arrives here in New Zealand! That's all. _

* * *

_...When Edith's eyes flickered up to meet his and she suggested tentatively that she supposed 'it was her turn', Anthony felt his stomach drop as her meaning dawned on him. To see her, bare and beautiful…to touch, to taste… The slow-burning need that had simmered in him all day suddenly tripled, and his heart began to pound._  
_"Please," he managed huskily; surprised he could trust his voice at all._

Edith smiled at his request, shy all of a sudden – she was trying to be brave about all this, but the faint nervousness in her eyes did not escape him. Nonetheless, she stepped back a little, and lowered her gaze to the front of her dress, the one she had changed into for the evening celebrations; which Anthony noticed for the first time was elegantly fastened by a line of delicate, inconspicuous buttons. His eyes followed her fingers intently as they moved from one button to the next, revealing more of her exquisite skin every moment. He felt his mouth go dry.

There was a charming blush across Edith's cheeks, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed her affected state. Anthony wished (with the part of him not already rendered insensible by the sight of his wife undressing) that he could have handled the buttons for her, and soothed her with gentle touches. And he _would_ soothe her, and please her, just as soon as possible.

The silence had obviously become too much: Edith began rambling in an attempt to cover her apprehension.  
"I'm only glad there's no need to unpin my hair, these days. I, err, I actually chose this gown because it – it buttons at the front like this – and I liked the style too of course. But I thought this would – simplify matters."  
Her blush deepened then. "Well, now it's obvious how much I've been thinking about this. But I did want – "  
She trailed off when she looked up at last, and found that her husband did not appear at all scandalized that she had been anticipating their wedding night – that his intense gaze was fixed on the place where her dress fell open, revealing a tantalising glimpse of silk and soft skin. The silence fairly crackled.

Fogged though he was in a haze of desire, Anthony was not so lost that her words failed to register. She was so clever, so very pragmatic (without it detracting anything from her feminine grace) … To think that she deliberately chose an evening gown that she would be able to remove for him, without a maid's assistance! Good God, he loved her.

"Please, my darling," he urged again, willing his eyes to communicate the depth of love and desire that welled within him – the two feelings so very intertwined that he could hardly have said which part of him ached for her the more.  
"I want to see you."  
Edith gave a shy but honest smile then; and his breath caught as she slid the bodice from her shoulders, then tugged it from her waist so that the dress fell to the floor.

She stood before him, the remaining silk doing little to disguise her softly-curving form. Anthony heard himself give a soft groan of appreciation.  
"Come here?" he begged.  
"One moment," she replied, bending to unclip the garters at her thighs, and roll the silk stockings down her long, shapely legs. Decades ago, a group of his Cambridge chums had once snuck into a burlesque, to see the women perform a strip tease…but that practised routine was nothing to the sight of _Edith Strallan_ undressing slowly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glowing…all for him... Anthony could not conceive of a more arousing vision in the world.

"There," she amended, tossing her stockings aside and then crossing the small space to meet him. She wore a timid smile – as though she were _just_ daring to hope for a positive response. As though Anthony wasn't already paralysed with desire for her.

He reached for her as she neared him: touching her bare shoulder, then letting his fingers trail up to caress her cheek. He had never wanted a woman more in his life – but Edith was an innocent, for all her bravado, and he was resolved to ease her along gently. It would certainly be no trial to warm her with adoring touches… Her own hands had settled again on his chest, and they were still; taking a moment to recognize exactly how far they'd come. Each tracing teasingly-light caresses on bare skin. Anthony's fingers toyed with the strap of her camisole – he could only resist the urge to touch her for so long.  
"Oh Edith," he murmured, breaking their tender silence and bending to nuzzle the warmth of her neck. Edith's hands went to his shoulders, and he gave in to the urge to taste her skin. She gasped at the feel of his open-mouthed kisses, and he hummed enjoyment against her smooth shoulder.  
"You are so…mm…"  
The hand which had steadied her at the waist began tracing light caresses through silk.  
"…so _very beautiful_."

Edith had been on the point of melting into his embrace – but then he felt her body still, and then heard a soft, timid voice by his ear. "Am I truly?"  
Anthony knew by her tone that she was not merely fishing for a compliment: she really _didn't know_. Her self-doubt made his heart ache…and the _absurdity_ of it was strikingly clear to Anthony; a man so completely allured by her, a man who wanted desperately to kiss every inch of her. He drew back enough to meet her gaze.  
"You are _ravishing_," he assured her, letting his eyes roam her features. "In fact," he fixed her with a warm but perfectly serious expression, "I'm astounded that I can still form sentences."  
A delighted laugh escaped Edith's lips, quite suddenly; and the emotion it elicited in Anthony was so potent that the only thing he could do was to silence her with his mouth against her own. He now felt perfectly justified in demonstrating his ardour; in letting his arm encircle her, pulling her tight against him, trailing feather-light caresses across her bare shoulders…and then he found that she had slipped her delicate hand into his useless one, while her other hand (and his) were engaged in much more fervent explorations. It was all such a heady mix of sweetness and sensuality…and the warmth, the scent of her was all around him.

By the time they finally parted, she could have no doubt of his desire for her – and indeed Edith's breathing was as ragged as his own, her hair mussed, her lips parted. One camisole-strap had slipped from her shoulder… Anthony raised his hand to nudge at the other one, questioningly.  
"Darling…would you…?"  
She nodded, smiling softly, and stepped back enough to pull the silk over her head. The view of her body that this afforded him – of her beautiful, full breasts – set Anthony aflame. It was a full few seconds after she had divested herself of her brassiere that he managed to utter a sound; and a husky "_Ohh_…" was the best he could do, under the circumstances. Edith's blush had returned, but she recognized his admiration, and looked rather flattered. Her smile quickly turned to a gasp, however, as Anthony's good hand skimmed along the curve of her hip, her side, rising to cup one breast as he pressed kisses into her hairline. She shivered at the intimate touch, pressing closer – and soon Anthony's mouth was trailing her collarbone, bestowing heated, reverent kisses. He thrilled to hear her give a little moan as he caressed her, and then her hands were weaving through his hair.

Torn by the fierce desire to kiss and touch her everywhere at once, he growled softly.  
"I wish I had the use of both hands."  
That quip, with the innuendo he'd barely even recognised, earned him a breathless giggle – one that was rather naughty and conspiratorial. God, she was the perfect woman… Then, as though in compensation for her laughter, Edith took his useless hand in her own, raising it to cup her other breast. Anthony was floored – to feel with that neglected hand something so soft and desirable, but more than that, her tender way of managing his infirmity. Everything he felt for her in that moment was almost overwhelming. And Edith seemed to see that – smiling up at him with infinite affection and trust, and only a little shyness.  
"Oh I love you, Anthony," she murmured softly.  
"And I love you, my darling wife," came his reply – both of them smiling at that last, significant noun.

She let his hand slip away then, carefully, and stepped back a little, towards the bed.  
"Shall we…?" her voice trailed off – but it was clear that Edith's only uncertainty was in how to _ask_. She knew what she wanted.  
"Oh yes," Anthony replied, following close behind. Before she could lower herself to the bed, though, he reached to stay her with a hand on her bare shoulder.  
"I'm…" he halted, and tried again. "I'm afraid this will render me quite ungraceful," he sighed, with a gesture to his ruined arm. Edith turned back to face him, sliding her hands across his shoulders with such an alluring little smile.  
"I'm not sure that gracefulness is the prime objective," she suggested, in a whisper. "And anyway, darling, where there's a will there's a way…" she bit her lip, "…and the amount of will I'm feeling is positively indecent."

Anthony laughed, then - a genuine, joyous laugh - and pulled her close for one more tender kiss before she slid beneath the sheets of his bed. _Their _bed.

* * *

Anthony Strallan looked up from his breakfast the next morning, to see not an empty seat and curtained window – but a golden-haired woman in morning-dress, smiling at him over the rim of her teacup. Glowing eyes, lips softly curving…lips with which he was now so very intimately acquainted…

"Would you pass the marmalade, please?" she asked, and Anthony pondered that such a simple, banal sentence could provide conclusive evidence of his complete happiness. They were both entirely too happy to manage any convincing pretence of nonchalance on this, their first breakfast together.

"Of course, my dear," her husband smiled.

**Fin.**


End file.
